A Beautiful Night For A Moondance
by Solstice4
Summary: Based on The Horror of Dracula, 1957, & Dracula, Prince of Darkness, 1966. The only Count who counts for me. Read on, oh young and innocent children who only know the magnificent Christopher Lee as Count Dooku or Sarumon. Mr. Lee is the ultimate Dracula.
1. By The Light of the Silvery Moon

**A Beautiful Night For A Moondance**

The moon in Middle Europe shines with an older silver than it does anywhere else in the world. Its light falls more heavily, lying like quicksilver on the land, flowing molten and cool across water, and silvercoating the skin. It rides high and silent when the sky is clear, looking down at the sleeping Earth, witness to a thousand nighttime mysteries.

**August, 1889**

**Near the Borders of Transylvania, Buchovina and Moldavia**

A woman slept alone in a bed meant for two, her window open to the night breeze and the moonlight. Crickets and nightbird calls shivered the air, and the parted curtains blew softly. Her red hair, dark in the moonlight, tumbled over her pillow, and one arm was flung out over the empty side of the bed, looking in sleep for a husband who was no longer there.

A shadow paused at the open window, then passed by. The breeze died, and the crickets and nightbirds fell silent. There was the softest of clicks, and the door of the small cottage opened almost silently, the faintest of creaks betraying the movement of the hinges. The woman in the bed sighed and the door stopped moving: she settled again and the door opened farther. A swirl of darkness disturbed the moonlight like a hand sliding through clear water, and a dark shape towered silently above the sleeping woman's bed, cloaked and motionless. After a moment or so of contemplation, the figure seated itself carefully on the edge of the bed.

A masculine hand, white and graceful, reached with infinite care toward the woman, slid the shoulder of her nightdress down a modest inch or two, and traced one finger along the smooth curve of her shoulder. She shivered in her sleep and sighed again. The dark figure leaned closer, its mouth nearly at her ear, and blew softly on her neck. Her eyes opened and she blinked sleepily before it registered upon her that she was not alone: she shrieked and sat up, clutching her bedclothes around her, and the dark figure sat up quickly too and laughed, a low, ominous sound.

The figure faced her across the bed in the moonlight as she shrank back towards the opposite corner, the lowered face a chiaroscuro study of slanted planes and dark-shadowed angles, silver-blade cheekbones, eyes completely shaded beneath arched brows. The sensuous lips parted, and the figure said in a caressing whisper, "Did you miss me?"

The woman sat deathly still for a moment, then two, tangled in her bedclothes, before closing her sagging jaw with a snap. "Everyone said you were gone," she quavered. "They said you must have been destroyed."

"They were wrong." The voice sounded like the sort of voice a tiger might have if it suddenly gained the power of human speech, low and deep, with an edge of velvety growl that brought a shiver down the spine. The visitor raised his head: the moonlight flooded into the huge eyes, dark, dark, with the faintest trace of red around the edges, and a brief flash of red luminescence reflected back from the pupils: a predator's eyes, fixed unwaveringly upon her.

The woman's own eyes, their lovely green washed silver, welled with tears. "You hell-devil," she whispered. "You absolute monster."

The figure raised its eyebrows and laid a slightly dramatic hand on its breast . . . me?

And in the space of a heartbeat the woman flung herself across the bed with all her strength and threw her arms around the dark figure: he caught her without effort and pulled her onto his lap. "I thought you were dead," she murmured into his neck.

The vampire smiled into her hair. "I am," he said.

"I missed you, you horrid creature," she said, her voice muffled in the shoulder of his cloak. "It's been almost a year . . . I was sure you were really lost this time. Why didn't you let me know?"

"Circumstances prevented it. And really, what if I told you where I was and the opposition came to call? The Van Helsings of the world show me no mercy . . . can you imagine what they'd do to a witch if they knew who she was and what she knew? Your pretty red scalp would look wonderful hanging from Father Sandor's tentpole, wouldn't it?"

"I hate you, do you know that? Do you know how I've grieved for you?" She angrily dashed tears from her eyes.

"Ah, Elise. Tears for me?" He actually smiled a little, and brushed wetness from her cheek with his thumb.

"I fought you to a standstill but you still won, didn't you, just like you always do. You didn't get my blood, but you got my heart. Beast." She made a fist and hit him, not very hard, in the shoulder. It was like punching stone. The vampire caught her small fist and kissed it before enfolding it in one pale hand.

"When the two strongest children in the schoolyard meet, they always fight and then become friends, don't they?" He laughed silently down at her, moonlight glinting on that mouthful of wolflike fangs. He could conceal them if he wanted . . . but Elise could tell that tonight he didn't care if she could see them or not. He seemed in a bit of a feral mood, and the woman knew that, old friend or not, she should probably tread carefully. His intellect was powerful, but it was almost completely subject to the lightning mood changes of his undead nature. "You witches fascinate me, Elise," he was saying, tipping his head in a birdlike gesture that made her think of hawks. "Your power is even greater in some ways than mine. You are the only human being, and a woman besides, who's ever met me on my own ground and fought me to a standstill, and then offered me her hand in friendship. And only a girl then. How much more powerful the woman must be." He smiled again, dangerously, and touched his cold lips to her temple. "In all my long years, I've never before met a creature like you."

"And won't again, either, you may wager." The woman stood up from her visitor's lap, shivering in spite of herself, and reached for her dressing gown. Tying the belt around her waist, she said, "It never does any good to offer you tea, does it?"

The vampire was amused. "You know better."

She went and stirred up the fire under the teakettle. "You'll forgive me if I indulge," she said.

He inclined his head graciously. "Of course."

While the water was heating, the woman warmed her hands for a long moment by the fire, then came quickly to where her guest still sat on the edge of the bed and took his face in her hands, pressing their warmth against his cold cheeks. Looking down at him, she said, "In spite of my cross greeting, I am very glad to see you. Gladder than you know." She bent and kissed the white forehead, hard and cold as porcelain under her lips. The vampire's lips parted, and he closed his eyes. She may have missed the brief red flare in them when he opened them again. "I can tell you haven't fed," she said. "Your skin really is like ice." He said nothing, but laid his hand on hers where it pressed his cheek for a moment, and she made the mistake of looking into those fathomless black eyes.

For a moment she felt her will draining, felt an overwhelming desire to fall into his arms, to let her head fall back and expose her throat to him, inviting him to . . .

She snatched at her own power, dragging it up from the earth and up her spine in a great draught, blasting his dark spell apart. She pulled her eyes away from his deadly gaze and backed quickly away from him. "Damn it!" she snapped. "Don't do that!"

He looked away. "Sorry," he said, not sorry at all. "Force of habit." He laughed again, the bitter whisper she had heard many times before. "As you said, I'm very . . . cold. It makes me . . . indiscreet."

Elise looked at the vampire in her house, her old friend, for a long moment, and silently offered him her wrist. He looked from the slender wrist to her face and back, and then shook his head. "No, Elise. Thank you, but no."

She turned her back without a word, and went to the fire to make her tea. Bringing the pot to the table to steep, she fetched her favorite mug and sat down with it, beckoning to her guest. "At least sit closer to the hearth," she said. He rose and came to the table, and she offered him the chair closest to the renewed fire.

She poured her tea and sat with the steaming mug clasped between her hands for a moment before reaching for one of her guest's icy ones. "You've . . . borrowed a little from me before," she said. "Why not now? Wouldn't there be some relief?"

"What I've borrowed from you in the past was the equivalent of you accepting one chocolate from the entire box." The vampire shook his head. "You are tempting, my dear. But it must be no. My need is too great now. I would not be able to stop myself, and you deserve a better fate than to fall to me, or to become just another concubine, after all these years." The black eyes flicked to hers, then away.

She said nothing for a long moment, glancing over at the empty bed. "I'm alone now. Would it be such a terrible thing?"

Without a hint of warning the vampire exploded to his feet, sending his chair flying, and seized her out of her own chair. Her chair had not finished falling over before he effortlessly yanked her to him, her waist was clamped tightly in the crook of one iron arm, the other hand twining in her hair and inexorably dragging her head back, exposing the pale length of her throat to his teeth. Her bare feet beat a helpless tattoo in the air a foot off the floor, and she pushed against his chest with both hands and all her strength, trying with futile desperation to ward him off. She who was probably the most powerful witch in Europe could not find any power to draw on . . . he was stone, unmoveable, and his implacable will drained hers away. The vampire brought his face within an inch of hers, his eyes hellish, rapacious, before darting his head towards her throat . . . and stopping, fangs not . . . quite . . . touching the delicate skin over her carotid artery. "Yes," he hissed into her ear. "Yes it would be a terrible thing." He nuzzled her throat, grazing the skin with his lips, and she shuddered, beyond terror. He murmured, "What would the blood of a witch taste like? Sweet? No . . . spicy, I think . . . shall we find out?" She made one small whimper as he dragged one razor-sharp fang very lightly along the length of her throat, the tip finally just piercing the surface of the skin. One perfect ruby drop welled from the tiny puncture, and the vampire deliberately licked it from the woman's throat. He brought his suddenly blazing eyes close to her face and hissed, "It's not what you expected, is it? Had enough?"

She hung paralyzed in his steely grip like a rabbit in a snare, eyes wide and fixed on the ceiling, unable to move or breathe, frozen to the bone with mortal terror. Finally he let her slither out of his arms and drop to her feet. She staggered, staring at him in disbelief, and he caught her arm with one hand and righted her chair with the other. She sat down quickly, then bent over and put her forehead on her knees. The vampire righted his own chair and sat down calmly, crossing his legs and resting a casual elbow on the tabletop, lacing his fingers. Whether or not he felt a need to compose himself as well would have been impossible to say. He watched and waited silently as Elise tried to recover herself.

It took a little while . . . she was completely rattled. For minutes she just sat still, until waves of trembling started to wash over her from head to foot, and intensified until her teeth chattered and she gasped for breath. The vampire watched this phenomenon with raised eyebrows, mildly alarmed, and after a moment went around to the back of her chair. He laid a hand on the back of her neck and she flinched. "Don't touch me, Vladimir," she managed to gasp. Silently he retreated to his chair and sat down again, studying the backs of his elegant hands, porcelain-pale face impassive.

Eventually the shaking stopped, and Elise slowly sat up in her chair, her face absolutely white. She looked long at him, tears standing in her green eyes, fear and fury warring on her face. "Why did you do that to me?"

He met her blazing look with a stern gaze, pointed a long forefinger at her and said emphatically, "To teach you a lesson."

Anger galvanized her and the urge to weep disappeared. "I am a grown woman," Elise flared. "I am not a child that needs lessons from you."

The vampire's hand suddenly hit the tabletop with a sharp crack that made her jump as he stared fiercely at her. "Excuse me, madame, but you have not lived even 50 years upon the earth, and I have existed nearly five hundred. It is not inconceivable that I might know something you do not." He narrowed his eyes at her. "I know there are women who have somehow gotten the idea that this . . . life . . . of mine is something romantic, love for all eternity, something that they want to share. I do not want you to start thinking like that."

"You terrorized me deliberately . . . and you bit me! And I did not like it!"

"You were not supposed to like it!" snarled the vampire in exasperation, "and if I had really intended to bite you in earnest, you would not be sitting there arguing with me now!" She became very still. The vampire smiled grimly and said, "We have argued about many things over many years, but there is no argument here. I told you that you are tempting . . . do you really want to know what it means to tempt a vampire? How easy it would have been for me to let go and take you! Less than an inch, my sweet Elise, and you would have lost the sun too. Do you want to be a hunted thing?" He leaned over the table toward her, and she caught her breath but did not move away, damned if she would be afraid of him after all these years.

The vampire reached for Elise's hand and held it more gently than she would have believed possible. "Do you know why I keep coming back to you, why I've never taken you when it would have been so simple?"

She shook her head and wearily rested her elbow on the tabletop, propping her chin on her fist. "No. I have wondered now and then over the years. I can't be as interesting to you as all that."

He smiled a little sadly. "As a matter of fact you are, but that's not it. You see, dear Elise, even in the night, even in the dark, I can see the sun in you. I can smell the heat of noon on your skin, and I can see you in your garden or walking along the road, with that red hair of yours blazing in the sunshine. It's been nearly five hundred years since I saw the sun, but when I'm with you, I can still remember what that was like. In this place, with you, I can still remember what it was to be human." He laid a hand on his breast. "I can almost remember what it was like to feel my own heartbeat. I want to keep that as long as I can."

She looked at him askance. "Are you trying to make me love you?" she asked.

He gave her that fanged smile again. "You already do, my sweet." 

She gave a long sigh, and getting up carefully, testing the steadiness of her knees, she went over to the vampire sitting at her table and put her arms around him. "You're right. I do love you, you miscreant." The vampire chuckled, and Elise said, "I will credit you this, visits from you are never dull. Leave it to you to frighten five years off my life and then two minutes later break my heart." The vampire leaned his head against the woman's breast for a moment, listening to the beating of her heart, then looked up at her. "Am I still a hell-devil?" he asked.

"Yes." She sat down again and poured herself more tea. The vampire glanced over at the empty bed. "By the way, not that I'm sorry to miss him, where is our Rolf ?" he asked.

"Rolf is gone. He took up with a barmaid from the Cross Keys and he's been with her for almost a year . . . right after I saw you last, as a matter of fact." She looked down at her hands. "There were times in this last year when it would have helped to talk with you."

"I'm sorry," he said, with what sounded like genuine regret. "It was unavoidable."

"I know. She's expecting, so I hear, Rolf's woman."

The vampire raised an eyebrow. This would be a worse blow to Elise than simple desertion. "Really." He leaned forward conspiratorially and lowered his voice. "Do you want me to . . . visit him?"

"No. Leave him alone. An infant needs a father, such as he would be."

"Forgiving of you."

"Not really. She's welcome to him."

"Liar," he said, in the most gentle voice she had ever heard her vampire friend use. She looked up, to find him standing over her. He reached for her hands and she stood, still looking up at him. It was a stretch for her . . . he was more than a foot taller than she. He smiled down at her. "I am always amazed by the amount of power contained in such a small person. I can't imagine where you keep it."

"The same place you keep yours, I expect."

The vampire actually laughed aloud, a sound not heard much in the world, or by many living people. He rested his hand on the back of her neck, under the warmth of her hair. "Dear Elise. I have to go soon."

She slid her arms around him under his cloak, which he wrapped around her like great wings. The only warmth under the heavy fabric was her own. His flesh was stony and unyielding . . . there was no heartbeat under the cheek she rested on his breast. "Such a short time. Will you come back? After . . . after you've . . . hunted."

"Do you want me to come back? You know that the risk in sheltering me is very great."

"I'm not without resources," said the witch. "You know that you are well-hidden here. How many times did Rolf walk right over you while you slept and never know you were there? Let the Van Helsings and the hunters come. Their crosses and their garlic and their other rubbish hold no terror for me."

He said nothing, and after a moment she said, "Why do you stay here? Why don't you go away, to Berlin or Paris, or even London? It's not safe here for you . . . there are always legions of self-appointed crusaders about."

"Wouldn't you miss me?" he said, for once without the irony that laced almost everything he said.

"I miss you all the time anyway. I want you to be safe."

The vampire tipped up the woman's chin and looked seriously down at her. "There is no safety for me. And I can give no assurance of safety. Not even you are entirely safe from me . . . as you've seen." He gave her a darkling look. "I am not the same being elsewhere that I am with you. If you knew of even some of the things I've done, you would no longer welcome me here."

"I would always welcome you, no matter what. But if it worries you, then don't tell me. I prefer you to be the old friend I met as an adversary when I was seventeen." She suddenly giggled in a tired way. "You were so completely thunderstruck."

"I was." They were both silent a moment, remembering another moon-silver night nearly thirty years in the past, a young witch just coming into the full flush of her power, confronted by a tall, silent figure in the forest. He had thought to take her, like any other maiden he might have found in the woods at night. She had thought otherwise. She had fought him back with waves of fierce, undisciplined power that had left him gasping in shock and amazement, thwarted for the first time in centuries, and utterly intrigued with the little red-haired fury who had stood off such a formidable night being as himself. That night she, little spitting wildcat, had actually made a hunting vampire laugh, and he had been coming back ever since, simply to spend time with a living being who knew him for what he was and somehow welcomed him anyway. Over the years he had visited her many times, and they had talked of many things, power and magic, love and fear, other things incomprehensible to ordinary mortals. Sometimes they had long, quiet conversations lasting most of a night, sometimes passionate arguments, and a deep friendship had grown over time. The vampire had watched the young witch mature and watched her power develop. He had expressed his fastidious disapproval of her choice of husband, and offered refined sympathy when it became obvious that she was unable to have children. He had been a warlord once: he understood the importance of the clan. He had comprehended something of her grief when it had become clear that there would be no clan for her, as perhaps no human could have.

Now she said, "You feel like the very stones. If you need to hunt that badly, there's . . . there's an encampment of gypsies over by the river, near the falls." She blinked back sudden tears . . . she had traded for some of the supplies of her craft with them and considered them friends, or at least friendly acquaintances.

"I see."

"They're close." She looked up at him again. "You could easily be over there and back here by morning. Your hiding place is still here, still safe."

The vampire glanced at the window, judging the lateness of the hour by the angle of the moonlight shining in. "There would be time. If I can do this tonight, then tomorrow night we will talk the night away together, and it will be safer for you. In spite of my insufferable ways, I do miss you."

Elise walked the vampire to the door, and opened it. They stood in the almost searing white moonlight, and she looked up at the silent full moon. "Every time you leave me, I'm sure I'll never see you again," she said, not trying anymore to hide her sadness. She had been hiding sadness for the loss of a friend and the loss of her husband for the better part of a year, and finally it was just too hard.

The vampire stood motionless, one hand pressed between her shoulder blades and the other caressing her hair as she wept into the front of his jacket. "I have never seen you like this," he said, "and I feel to blame. I am sorry." She shook her head against his breast. "I'm the one who is sorry," she said, trying mightily to stop her tears. "I've always tried to show you more dignity than this."

An idea struck the vampire. "Come out with me," he said suddenly. "The night is full of light and magic. The moonlight tonight, one could almost dance to it."

She looked up at him, startled. In thirty years he had never invited her to go with him into the night. "But, aren't you going to . . . hunt? I . . . I don't think I could watch that."

He raised a thoughtful eyebrow. "No, you're right. I don't want you to. But Elise, the moon is full for two more nights. Tomorrow, I won't need to hunt, and I'll take you into the night with me. You will see it the way I do."

She looked up at her vampire friend for a long moment, fear of the unknown warring with the desire to leave behind her pain and loneliness for at least one night. She truly didn't know what she would say until it came out of her mouth. Whether it would mark a change between them, she could not say. It would be easy for her to let it . . .it had not been coincidence that her unfaithful husband had been tall and dark. But even if I have no more sense than that, she thought, he will. She had stood heart to heart for her entire adult life with a being that most probably would have thought of as the most evil creature on Earth, and had never known any harm from him. He had taught her a valuable lesson this night. In spite of what he had said and done tonight, she knew he would never let any harm come to her, from himself or anything else. And even if he did, just one night, running in the moonlight with her dark companion, that would be worth a lifetime. "All right," she said softly. "Come for me right after sunset."

"I will. But now I am beginning to be in pain, my girl. I have to go."

"Go then, and be back before morning. There's one named Josef among them, who has two gold teeth in the front and wears a green kerchief. He beats his wife and children. Strike like lightning and don't lead anyone back here. Your sleeping place is ready . . . I just looked at it a couple of days ago."

The vampire laid his chilly hand on her cheek, raised her face, and kissed her, something he did with no other being on the Earth, once quickly on the forehead, once more softly on the mouth. "Thank you, little Elise," he said, and in a swirl of darkness and moonlight was gone.

She stood in the open doorway, looking the way he had gone. As usual, he had disappeared in the blink of an eye. "Come back to me, demon lover," she said softly. After a moment she went back inside, closing the door, and the window too. She looked at the bed, and it seemed impossibly empty. She pulled her rocking chair close to the fire, and, wrapped in a blanket, sat down in the rocker to wait.

In spite of herself she soon slept, until a scant hour before dawn. She woke to find herself being lifted gently from the rocking chair, carried across the room, and gently placed in her own bed. A second blanket was pulled over her. A strong hand, now warm and alive, closed on her own, and lips now warm and human touched her temple. Without opening her eyes she smiled. "My bad penny has turned up again," she whispered.

"Always," Count Dracula said.


	2. Paper Moon

**_Letter from Elise Rusyn to her sister Sophia Meitmitz, delivered in Klausenberg 30th April, 1893. Found carefully preserved among Sophia's effects after her death on 27th May, 1922, and burned by her eldest son._**

My beloved Sophia,

I hardly know how to begin. First of all, I am so sorry that I waited more than three years to contact you, and I can't imagine what you must have gone through. I am sorrier for that than you will ever know, and all I can say is that it was unavoidable, and as much for your protection as mine. Secondly, if you have ever loved me as your only sister, never let anyone read this letter. Ever. For the rest of your life.

Now, that said, I want you to know that I am indeed well and walking upon the earth. I have not been murdered or abducted. As you have probably surmised, I am with Vladimir and have been since my "disappearance". Please believe me when I say that I had not thought it possible upon this earth to love someone as I love him, and to be loved as he loves me. We are each other's religion: we share one soul. I believe with complete sincerity that I was born to be with him and to live as he lives, and my happiness with him is absolute.

I don't know what mad rumors, if any, continue to fly concerning Vladimir and me. If nobody has ever found Father Sandor, I enclose a map describing where his bones might still be. He believed that Vladimir was the Dark Squire come again, and tried to kill us. He failed, although I was seriously injured. Don't worry, though, as I am long healed and "all better now". Sandor did succeed in murdering a beloved friend whom I may not name to you, but who we still grieve for each day. Sandor's influence has lived on, though, and makes it impossible to live peacefully where I was born and raised, so we decided to make a clean break. You need not fear for my situation, though. Vladimir's resources are considerable, and I am living a life I never dreamed of while I was scratching at the edge of the forest. I will never return to Klausenberg or my house. If the house still stands, you will find the deed to it and the land under the loose hearthstone . . . you know where to look. Please keep whatever you would like and dispose of the rest as you see fit, if you haven't already.

Vladimir is an incurable traveler, and we do not stay in any one place for any great length of time. Indeed, we will be long gone out of Paris by the time you receive this letter. I don't know where we will go next, except that it will be astonishing for me. We may even go to America. Thanks to our mother, I was well-educated for a woman from our district. Now I see that I knew next to nothing. Vladimir has taught me French and we are now working on Italian. Last week I saw the Mona Lisa. It is an amazing life.

Those are happy things, but now I must tell you something that may frighten you. I beg of you, read this through twice before you do anything. Remember that I said Father Sandor believed Vladimir to be the Dark Squire come again. Sophia, my beloved sister, Father Sandor was right. My beloved Vladimir was indeed once known as Dracula. We did not meet shortly after Rolf left me, as I once told you. I am sorry that I lied to you about it. We met in the forest when I was only 17, out wandering under the moon as only a young witch can wander. He tried to take me as a vampire will, but he did not expect to encounter a witch, and I fought him off. He was amused and intrigued, and a friendship was born that night that has lasted ever since. Mama and Papa knew nothing of it, and Rolf only knew a little.

What Rolf ever really thought, I do not know or care. I believe now that the only reason I married Rolf is because though he was a lout he was handsome, and his looks reminded me of the one I really wanted but believed I could never have. I nearly confided in you so many times, Sophia, but ultimately I could not. Vladimir was gone from me too, the first year Rolf was gone, and when he returned I nearly died of relief. The next night he took me adventuring under the moon with him, to see as he sees. I lost myself to him that night, and I was glad.

And finally, I must tell you something else that I know will frighten you, and again, I beg you to be patient with me, and to remember what I have already said about my happiness. I told you that I was seriously injured when we were attacked by Father Sandor and his men and our friend was murdered. I must tell you that Father Sandor shot me and left me for dead. There was no hope for me . . . I was dying. Vladimir saved me the only way he could . . . he made me like himself. He did not want to, but left the final decision to me. I asked, and he gave, in spite of his grief. I died in his arms, Sophia, and was reborn there as well.

You know, or might think you know, how beings like us must survive. Let me tell you now that since I have come to Vladimir's life, I have not brought about the death of any person, and since I came away with him, neither has Vladimir. He has sworn to me, Sophia, that he never will again. He tells me that until we loved each other he waded in blood and did not care, but that I have been the author of a deep change within him. It has been very difficult for him, this transformation of centuries of instinct and habit, but his efforts are sincere: I can see that plainly. I do my best to support and help him, and he tells me I have saved his soul, or at least his belief that he might actually have one. I cannot express to you how that makes me feel.

You may be wondering about the money I have sent. It does grieve me that I will not see my nephews live their lives, and I want you to take half the money and divide it between them to help them and their families. Two-thirds of the remainder is for you to do whatever you want with. The rest is for flowers for the graves of our parents. Remember that Papa loved asters, and bring white roses for Mama.

I miss you, my dear chattering sister. I will always miss your affectionate teasing and your loud, joyful laugh. The one regret I have in giving myself to Vladimir is that you and I will probably never see each other again, not in this life and perhaps not in the next. Barring accident or interference, neither Vladimir nor I will age or die. You may have feared that I was dead. Sophia, I tell you now that it was not until I died that I truly began to live.

Vladimir offers you his love, and asks for your forgiveness. He also gives his protection: among the inhabitants of the night, and Sophia, I was amazed to learn that we are everywhere, Vladimir is a prince, and his word is law. There is a circle around you that none will ever dare cross: you and yours need never fear any being like us. Vladimir says this is the only gift he can offer in exchange for taking me from you.

I must close now . . . we must leave soon. Please rest easy, my dear sister. I am safe and my happiness is complete. I miss very little of human life. I've lost the ability to weep and I miss that, but I miss you far more than I miss the sun. Think of me often, as I will always think of you. And I must warn you, my dear Sophia: for your own safety, do not try to look for us: we will not consent to be found. You probably will not be able to be happy for us, but at least be at peace for us. Do not grieve for me. In this life I have chosen, I have found enough happiness for both of us.

Remember me.

With all the love in my heart, I remain,

Your devoted sister,

Elise

Hôtel Relais Christine

Saint Germaine-des-Prés

Paris

17 March, 1893


	3. One More Moondance With You

September 2004

**An Evening at Home**

**22 Via Rosso**

**Rome**

Here in this old, elegant semi-residential district of old Roma, the modern lighting and stampeding, honking Roman traffic, the mobs of tourists and pickpockets and nuns and stockbrokers were miles and years away. Here, if one looked in the right direction, one might manage to forget what year it was, or what century.

A petite red-haired beauty in a sleeveless, backless, deep red dress stood on her balcony, looking up at the full moon and waiting with diminishing patience. She looked at her delicate gold watch . . . the diamonds on its face caught blue sparks from the moonlight. He had gone out, briefly, so he said, and it was now nearly 11 pm. He was late again, damn his beautiful eyes. 

The redhead turned on her costly high heel and went back into the apartment she shared with her lover. It was staggeringly expensive, not overly large, but quite magnificently done, in warm Italian golds and russets that added a golden tint to their sometimes extremely pale skin, accented here and there with splashes of hot blue and copper green that flattered her Titian hair and green eyes. She paused before a large and beautiful mirror with a hammered-gold frame and touched her hair, then smiled, as she always did, because she could see herself. What stupid stories people did make up.

The hairs on the back of her neck suddenly shivered, and she turned and looked back out onto the balcony. And there he was, her miscreant, leaning against the stone balcony railing with his arms folded and a most insufferable smile on his face.

"What did you do, climb up the side of the building again? I wish you wouldn't do that."

"Why not? It's only two stories, my love."

"Someone is going to think you're a cat burglar and shoot you one of these nights."

He laughed, the same dangerous laugh she had always known, and razor fangs glinted in the moonlight. "As if that would do them any good."

Her love extended one hand to her, and she went back out on the balcony to join him. He eased his arms around her and lifted her neatly off her feet. Her dress slid up rather indecorously in the back, revealing an elegant length of thigh in black silk hose. She laughed in a languid way and put a slender white arm around his neck, then nuzzled behind his ear, inhaling the expensive scent of his black calfskin jacket. She had tried to convince him many times over the years that wearing colors would make him look positively edible, but he would cling to his beloved black, black from head to foot and from the inside out. Even his bathrobe was black. It really was quite impossible sometimes. "Put me down, hell-devil," she told him, lips quirking, staring tiger-like into his dark, dark eyes.

"No. I like you where I have you. I can keep a better eye on you that way," he said, and kissed her. It had taken some practice, kissing someone with fangs, especially after the dark night in Moldavia when their choices were taken from them and she had consequently developed her own dainty set of razor canines. But practice makes perfect, so they say, and they had created their own methods.

At this moment, he was warmer than she . . . he had obviously fed very early. He sat her on the stone balcony railing, her back to open space, and kissed her again, rather urgently. Yes, he had definitely fed . . . it did make him like this sometimes. The life in the fresh blood he had taken wanted to be shared. "Elizzia," he murmured, sliding his hands down her bare back and gripping her hips. She twined both arms around his waist and slid one leg around the back of his thigh, pulling him very close and not letting him move. Her strength would never be the equal of his, but it was close, and she held him fast, chuckling into the front of his sweater. He did not like to be restrained and growled, a sullen red flare coming into his eyes. A vampire's growl is a frightful thing to hear, but Elizzia only laughed.

Italy had been such a good choice for them . . . it had certainly changed them both for the better. The people of Rome lived life with such abandon and joy, the very air was a tonic. She was no longer an forlorn, forsaken woman making a bare, lonely living between the forest and the mountains. With diligence one can accumulate quite a bit of wealth over a hundred years if one is careful to hunt in the right places, and of course her lover commanded a vast ancestral fortune. Her power had grown . . . her vitalities as a witch and as a vampire had merged until she was a new being, neither truly one nor the other.

And her lover . . . Italy had changed him completely. He had once been such a brooding lurker, repressed, unhappy, always on the edge of either sarcasm or anger, forever grieving for the past, hiding his misery in savagery and then fleeing to her for absolution. Italy had turned him into an adventurer, wearing modern clothing, taking hysterical risks. He now did impulsive things, like climbing the side of the building instead of coming through the door. It continually baffled the doormen of their exclusive building to find il Conte at home when no one had seen him come in. He seduced a cardinal in the very shadow of St. Peter's Basilica and left him sitting dazed all night on a bench for the early tourists to find. He prowled the Coliseum by night, pretending to be a ghost and scaring the life out of the tourists. Once the two of them had stalked trespassing tourists in the moonlight in Pompeii, sampling the strange, bold piquancy of American blood. The woman had asked Vladimir for his phone number . . . he and Elizzia had laughed for days over that. The two of them had then disappeared into the dark, haunted ruins, leaving the Americans dazed and bewitched, appropriated a boat, and gone to Capri, all in the same night.

Since they had come to Italy they had had numerous little adventures like that one, and her demon lover had shed one more layer of hidebound care with each one. Other adjustments had had to be made as well. She, not raised a Christian and never impressed with Christian symbolism even after she had crossed over into this life, helped her lover to recognize that his fear of religious objects was mostly in his own mind. He had gradually, with Elizzia's help, rid himself of it. It had taken a considerable amount of effort, but it was the only way to make living in the center of the Roman Catholic world possible for a vampire. It had been terribly difficult for him, and Elizzia had ached for his suffering in the face of the things he dreaded most in the world. The whole process took years, but they had no shortage of those, and together they had accomplished it. A day came when she presented him with a 17thcentury silver crucifix she had found in the shop of a dealer of exclusive antiquities. He had looked calmly at it and at her, and taken it from her hand without a qualm. After a moment he began to smile, and disappeared down the hall with it. Later she found it hanging on the wall in the room where they slept. They celebrated by exchanging extravagant Christmas gifts that year, and then with a straight-faced attendance at Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. Elizzia's lover had clenched his jaw, and without telling her what he was about to do, took the ultimate test and went forward to take communion as she sat frozen with shock.

The priest, an inoffensive man with a kindly heart, had looked into the eyes of the tall, dark man who stood before him, and the man's expression was faultless, grave and sweet, the picture of humble devotion. But the burning eyes raised to the priest's seemed to show a window into hell, and had given the gentle cleric nightmares for a week. "It seemed a fitting enough repayment", Vladimir later said to

his lover, "to frighten that one to death in exchange for all the times his brethren did it to me . . . and for what they did to you. And now they have no more power over me. How I wish Father Sandor was still alive. I would have loved to see his face as he contemplated the idea of vampires with no fear of the cross . . . of _me_ with no fear of it." The vampire's smile at that moment had actually chilled Elizzia, who had thought herself long past being able to be frightened by him.

Most important of all, the vampire lovers had continued to refine their techniques for feeding until killing was unnecessary in order to live comfortably. He had never bothered with that level of control in all his long years, until she impressed upon him that it made for a much more secure life. A city littered with many bodies drained of blood tended to bring the Van Helsings and their ilk out of the woodwork. They had lived in Rome for nearly a hundred years now, and had not so far encountered even one self-appointed vampire hunter. There had to be something to be said for discretion.

One night spent running in the moonlight over a hundred years before had brought all this to pass. For a vampire to take a human lover . . . impossible. For that lover to change nearly five hundred years of hidebound, traditional vampire behavior . . . impossible. And yet . . . it had happened, before the inevitable came to pass and she became like him. And now they, possibly the most dangerous couple on the face of the earth, were completely happy with their predatory life together. Human couples were lucky to reach 50 years together. Elizzia and her lover had just recently celebrated their one hundred fifteenth anniversary together, and they had discovered that night that vampires, as long as they have just fed, can indeed drink champagne.

And it all brought them to this moment, indulging their passion for each other with her perched dangerously on a balcony railing twenty feet above an elegant Roman street. A whistle from below interrupted them. Her lover looked down at the street, that dangerous smile returning, and she twisted around to see. A group of six or seven boys and girls in their early twenties, all beautiful, had come out of the trattoria across the street and were now standing below and cheering them on.

The vampire slid an arm around Elizzia's waist to steady her, and she swung around on the balcony rail so that her legs were over the street. She deliberately crossed her legs, letting her dress slide up her legs, and leaned fearlessly back against her lover, trusting him to not let her fall. The group in the street below exploded into hoots and yells of encouragement as he slid one hand up her shoulder and tipped back her head, burying his face in her neck from behind. The girls were all looking him up and down admiringly, and the boys devoured Elizzia with their eyes. One of the lads yelled, "Hey, paisano, are you going to do her right there on the railing? Can we watch?"

The vampire's head snapped up and his eyes speared down into the boy's. Paisano indeed. The vampire began to grin, and while he was able to conceal his fangs quite well, there was something about the rapaciousness of his expression that suddenly silenced the group of rowdy children. For a heartbeat, then two, they all stood undecided, not sure if they should be afraid of this_ uomo misterioso_ and his redheaded _strega_ or not.

The vampire himself broke the mood of their fear: he swung Elizzia off the railing and into his arms, and grinning again down at the knot of younglings, called down to them in flawless Italian, "No, not on the railing. There's not nearly enough room there for what I'm going to do to her." Elizzia slapped a hand to her mouth just in time to conceal her own delicate canines as she threw back her head and laughed. Neatly manipulated, their fears eased, the group of young people laughed too and again yelled encouragingly. One of the girls, a delicious lass, tall and voluptuous, with a great tumble of black hair and melting sloe eyes, classically Roman, called up to them, "Is there room enough for three up there?"

Elizzia and her lover glanced at each other. He began to smile and she raised an eyebrow. "We'll have to be very careful," she whispered. "Appetizers, nothing more."

"Yes, agreed."

Elizzia, still held comfortably in her lover's arms, called down, "There's room for you and one other, but only that, fanciulla bella. You decide." Elizzia's green eyes scintillated down at the young woman, invitingly, conspiratorially.

The Roman beauty stood indecisively for a moment, then looked around at her friends. One of the boys, a tall beauty himself, wild bronze curls, a wild blue light in his eyes, stepped forward and put an arm around her waist. He looked up at the couple on the balcony, and said, "Buzz us up." They turned to their friends for a brief consultation, doubtless for their own safety. They need not have worried.  
The vampire and his lover looked long and knowingly at each other, and Elizzia called over the railing, "Number 22 Via Rosso. Around the corner. Tell the doorman you're guests of the Conte and Contessa." The golden boy's fire-blue eyes met the vampire's dark ones, and the two male creatures exchanged slow smiles. Elizzia wanted to laugh. Men remain the same through the centuries and all over the world.

Elizzia was set gently on her feet, and they went inside, closing the balcony door, drawing the heavy drapery over it, turning down lights. Her lover went into the luxurious bedroom which was frequently used but never slept in, and came back without his jacket. The buzzer cried harshly, and as the vampire exchanged a word or two with the doorman over the intercom, Elizzia mixed drinks they would only pretend to consume. The vampire lit a cigarette and smiled sidelong at Elizzia through a plume of smoke.

There was a tentative knock and Elizzia, as the less threatening of the two of them, opened the door. The two gorgeous young people stood there, a bit uneasy, but warming to the sight of the beautiful couple waiting for them with relaxed smiles. Practiced seducers such as Elizzia and her lover knew better than to frighten anyone in their own home.

Their host came forward, his eyes never leaving the girl's, and he lifted her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist._ "Buona sera, signorina_," he said, low. She took the cigarette from him and drew on it, branding it with her dark lipstick before handing it back, allowing her hand to brush against his. He took the cigarette and drew from it himself, putting his lips directly on the mark of her lipstick. The young woman glanced at Elizzia, and seeing only a knowing smile and raised eyebrow, blew out the smoke softly while looking challengingly into the vampire's eyes. This may or may not have been a mistake . . . she was lost in a moment as his eyes seized hers. He would always prefer to swiftly conquer . . . Elizzia preferred to take her time.

The boy's eyes sought out Elizzia. "Such beautiful red hair," he said to her, coming boldly forward. He reached behind her head and drew out the lacquered chopsticks she had used to put her hair up . . . it fell in a great tumble of red and gold down her back and shoulders. Elizzia offered him her drink and he downed it in three swallows, never taking his eyes from hers. "So you are open, you and your . . . husband? Lover," the young man said, toying with a long red-gold lock of her hair.

"My Conte," she said. "And yes, very. As long as we end the evening together, we are free to play." She smiled, glancing up at him, and took the empty glass from him. "Bella donna," he said softly, and she swayed forward and took him in her arms. "Ragazzo bello," she returned in a husky voice. An impassioned moaning from the lovely brunette could be heard through the open bedroom door, and the golden boy glanced towards the door, caught between being alarmed and impressed. "Mio Dio, what's he doing to her?" he whispered to Elizzia. She caught his eyes with her own, trapping him in green amber, unbuttoning his blue silk shirt and sliding her hands underneath. "Wonderful things," she whispered back.

Two hours later, or was it three, the young people had gone, dazed, disheveled, satiated, and tampered with in ways they would never forget but always have trouble remembering. A single small lamp with a red silk slip tossed over it gave dim, warm light in the far corner of the bedroom. Elizzia and her lover lay in a tangle of dark velvet and silk bedclothes, flushed with feeding and with each other. The young ones, of course, were beautiful, but only the means to the delicious end. Elizzia briefly allowed herself to remember a lopsided slat bed in a one-room cottage on the edge of the forest, and shook her head a little. That woman was dead and gone in more ways than one.

Her lover propped himself up on his elbow and traced a thumb softly along her jawline, looking down at her thoughtfully. She reached up and ran her hand through his glossy black hair. Suddenly, he leaned down and kissed her quickly, then sprang off the bed, reaching for his cashmere sweater, black, naturally, and the jeans on the floor that she had only recently talked him into trying. He had resisted, finally reluctantly agreeing, and now he lived in them. Again, black, naturally. He disappeared into the living room. She called, "Tomorrow I'm going to Carlo Palazzi and I'm going to bring you something red." 

She heard him chuckle. "I won't wear it. Bring me something from Bulgari instead."

"You said you wouldn't wear jeans either, and you don't even wear jewelry, _especially_ a watch. Perhaps if you did you wouldn't be late all the time." Perhaps she would visit Bulgari as well. Any excuse to shop. She smiled to herself.

"Get up and come out here, lazy female."

She heard music begin to play. She listened for a moment, then identified the song and started to laugh. If they could be said to have their own song, this would be the one.

She got up and slipped her red dress back on, not bothering with underpinnings, and went barefoot into the living room. He had shut off all the lights except for the dancing green and blue ones on the front of the complicated stereo, and thrown open the drapes and curtains. Moonlight streamed in and flooded the room in cool blues and silvers. He who had once been Dracula held out his hand. She who had lost a human life and given up a human death to love a vampire came into his arms, and they began to dance to the soft, jazzy music.

_Well, it's a marvelous night for a moondance_

_With the stars up above in your eyes_

_A fantabulous night to make romance_

_'Neath the cover of October skies_

_And all the leaves on the trees are falling_

_To the sound of the breezes that blow_

_Can I just have one more moondance with you, my love . . ._

_And I know how much you want me, that you can't hide_

_One more moondance with you _

_In the moonlight on a magic night_

_Can't I just have one more dance with you, my love_

They kissed as they danced, the two night creatures, gliding with impossible grace through the bars and pools of moonlight that filled the room. Once in a while the red flare in their eyes would catch the blue light and throw back brief purple fire. When they were finished dancing, they curled up together on the golden suede sofa, moonbathing and talking softly till the sky began to pale and it was nearly morning. Sometimes it was lovely to just order in and have an evening at home.

Finally necessity reared its ugly head and they closed the curtains and went to the room for which there was only one key. In it was one coffin large enough for two, lined with their own Romanian earth. They locked and bolted the door behind them, as always, and retired within. Before the daytime hibernation took them, they kissed and wished each other good sleep, as they always did, and the trance took them holding hands.  
And outside, dawn came to the Eternal City, a fitting place for eternal love.


End file.
